


And One To Grow On

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Bondage, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: It’s Quentin’s 27th birthday and Eliot grants him a very special gift: a fantasy made real.





	And One To Grow On

**Author's Note:**

> This is to celebrate Quentin Coldwater’s birthday: parted from me, yet never parted; alive in my heart, my mind, and in a multitude of multiverses. Q, you’re my muse and I love you. Happy birthday, jellybean!

“Q, what do you want for your birthday?”

Quentin glanced up from pouring a bowl of cereal to consider Eliot’s question. His partner sat at the table in their kitchen nook, sipping a cup of coffee, the sunlight streaming in through the brownstone’s windows and turning his amber eyes into burnished gold. Outside and ten floors down, Manhattan was coming to life; traffic grew like a snake shedding its skin, filling the streets with honking horns and the rise and fall of vehicle engines enduring the stop-and-go of a morning commute.

“I don’t know,” Quentin said after a moment as he reached for the nearby gallon of milk. “I kind of feel like I have everything I ever wanted. Magic, a job in said field, and at the second-largest library in the nation . . .” He paused and smiled at Eliot. “And someone to be my Person.”

Eliot rose from his chair, his black-and-red satin robe giving Quentin teasing glimpses of his dark chest hair. Quentin smiled as his lover’s long arms enfolded him a moment later and he leaned against the tall, lean form he’d come to love so much.

“You’re my Person too,” Eliot murmured in his ear. “But there must be something I can give you. Something special?”

“Well, uhm . . . there might be one thing,” Quentin allowed, and Eliot pulled back to look down at him. Even in his bare feet, the taller man had at least seven or eight inches on him.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know if I can!” Quentin laughed, and Eliot grinned as he watched his partner blush.

“You’re blushing! This has to be good—come on, Q . . . please?”

Quentin glanced around as if he were afraid they were being watched before rising up onto his tiptoes and whispering in Eliot’s ear. Eliot’s eyes widened with each word and when Quentin was finished speaking, he cupped Quentin’s chin so he couldn’t lower his gaze. Quentin blushed again but met Eliot’s stare.

“Oh fuck. You’re serious.”

“If I crossed some line—” Quentin began to say, and Eliot put a long, elegant finger to his lips.

“Don’t you dare apologize! And there’s no line with us, Q.” He ran a hand through Quentin’s shoulder-length hair. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve imagined what it might be like, I just . . . I never had the opportunity to tell you before this—” He held up a hand as Eliot began to speak. “The mosaic universe doesn’t count, we could barely keep track of how long we’d been there, much less pin down birthdays.”

“Fair enough,” Eliot nodded. “So Saturday evening, after dinner?”

Quentin grinned as his cheeks went pink, and the combination made Eliot want to kiss him until both their lips were chapped.

“It’s a date.”

******

After making a quick stop at one of his favorite shops in the East Village for some supplies, Eliot hurried home to prepare Quentin’s birthday dinner—cordon bleu with asparagus tips—busying himself with the task as he waited for Quentin to arrive home from a trip to The Strand with Julia, a tradition they’d observed since they were both teenagers and Quentin’s dad would inevitably buy him a model kit or a baseball glove for his birthday instead of the books he wanted. Once the chicken was in the oven, Eliot set up some candles in the bedroom and laid out the supplies he’d bought: a bottle of cherry lube, a crop with velvet purple tassels, and a set of soft leather wrist restraints. It occurred to him that fulfilling Quentin’s fantasy was as much as a gift for him as it was for his partner, and Eliot’s heart warmed at Quentin’s thoughtfulness.

“El?” The thump of the front door closing punctuated the call. “I’m back!”

Eliot shut the bedroom door and hurried down the hall. Quentin’s canvas bag, the one with The Strand logo, looked pregnant with books.

“Jesus!” Eliot laughed. “How many did she buy you this year?”

“Six,” Quentin admitted. “She wouldn’t let me say no—said I deserved the world after the shitstorm I’d been through.”

Silence filled the room for a few beats. Neither of them often discussed the mindwipe or the monster that had inhabited Eliot for nearly a year, one that had caused Quentin physical and emotional torment before he and their friends had finally found a way to banish it. Eliot wasn’t sure if their mutually agreed-upon silence was healthy, but sometimes the emotional fallout of a thing was more likely to destroy a relationship that the actual event, something he was painfully aware of from experience.

“You deserve the world period, honeylove,” Eliot said as he crossed the room and kissed Quentin on the mouth. “And I think your birthday dinner is just about ready.” He stroked a hand across Quentin’s cheek. “Presents afterward.”

***

Eliot’s talents in the kitchen were as sharp as ever, and he and Quentin ate delicious cordon bleu by candlelight, accompanied by several glasses of white wine. Quentin relaxed as the meal progressed, and by the time he’d cleaned his plate, he was laughing and smiling in a way that few people ever saw. Eliot pushed his chair back, rounded the table, and offered Quentin his hand.

“What about the mess?” He asked, glancing over one shoulder as Eliot led him down the hall toward the bedroom, and Eliot waved a free hand.

“Remember what Mayakovsky told us? ‘When a magician wants the dishes done, they simply are.’ Now c’mon.” He opened the bedroom door and lit the candles with a murmured spell. Quentin smiled as they flickered to life. The bed was made, its plum satin duvet gleaming in the candlelight. His dark eyes flicked over the items on the nightstand before lingering on the wrist restraints. Eliot watched him. “Q? Are you okay? If you’ve changed your mind—”

“No. Not at all.” Quentin turned to his partner. “I want this, El—not just because it’s going to feel good and be exciting but because I want you to know I’ve always trusted you.” He took Eliot’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over the delicate veins he found there. “My life, my heart, my body . . . they're yours, Eliot. That never changed.”

Eliot swallowed the wad of raw emotion that rose in his throat at Quentin’s words.

“Oh Q,” he managed at last. “Jesus. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.” Quentin squeezed the taller man’s hands. “Now . . . do you want to pick my safe word, or can I?”

Eliot chuckled.

“It’s your birthday, Q. Go ahead.”

“The safety phrase is ‘Cozy Horse.’ Game on!”

Excitement rose in Eliot’s veins and his hands dropped to the hem of Quentin’s sweater, where they gripped and tugged. Quentin raised his arms, all obedience, as Eliot yanked it off and tossed it on a nearby chair. He went for the button fly of Quentin’s Levi’s next, undoing them one by one and shucking them off as Quentin kicked off his sneakers. Eliot attacked his partner’s neck, kissing, licking and biting and Quentin gasped, swaying as he worked on stepping out of his jeans.

“Oh—” Thrills chased down his spine as Eliot gave his left earlobe a hard nip and then his tongue, warm and wet, swirled into that ear. Quentin shivered and gripped Eliot’s upper arms, the sensations pinballing along his nerve endings and bottoming out somewhere near the shaft of his cock. He stepped closer, arching into Eliot’s thigh, and Eliot pulled away from his ear.

“Ah ah! Daddy’s driving.” He turned Quentin and pushed him down onto the bed. “Watch me,” he directed as he began to strip, revealing his long, lean, pale form to Quentin at an unhurried pace. The anticipation made Quentin squirm and by the time Eliot was naked, the front of Quentin’s boxers was tented and damp. Eliot leaned down and whisked them off to admire his lover’s erection. “What a lovely sight! But we can’t have you coming yet, can we?” He cupped the back of Quentin’s neck and squeezed, keeping his strength in check, and Quentin gave a moan filled with longing. Eliot pulled him forward and whispered in his ear. “Get on your knees for me—hands behind your back. Now.”

Quentin turned and shifted onto his knees, his erection curving upward, his gaze lowered. Eliot picked up the wrist restraints and tugged Quentin’s hands behind him, locking his wrists into the device. Quentin shuddered at the contact and Eliot paused, waiting for him to utter the safety phrase, but the pace of his partner’s breathing quickened in excitement, not fear, and Eliot patted his ass.

“That’s a good boy. Now down . . .” Eliot eased Quentin down until his forehead pressed against the duvet, his ass in the air, his wrists bound at the small of his back. Eliot opened the bottle of cherry lube and let a copious amount drip down his index and middle fingers. “Time to get you ready, my sweet boy.” He swirled the tips of his fingers around the outer edge of Quentin’s hole, making him quiver. “Not a sound . . . you stay still while I get you all slick and slippery.” He slid two fingers into Quentin’s tight heat and grinned as Quentin swallowed a moan and clenched around them. His narrow hips rolled a few times and Eliot gave one upturned asscheek a swat.

“Uh!” Quentin gasped.

“Don’t you dare come before I allow you to!”

Quentin stilled and Eliot worked his fingers around for a few minutes, careful not to edge Quentin too close to orgasm—they were far from finished. He removed his fingers and mounted Quentin, pulling him snug against his erection and sliding it between Quentin’s asscheeks.

“Are you ready, my sweet boy? Are you ready to take your licks?”

“Yes!” Quentin whimpered, and Eliot picked up the tassel crop in his left hand as he slid into Quentin’s depths, his cock like iron. Quentin gasped and his fingers jerked and wriggled as Eliot finally bottomed out, his sac bouncing lightly against Quentin’s ass. Eliot paused, ensuring the proper balance, his fingers tightening around the leather-bound crop handle, pulled back, and struck Quentin’s ass with the tassels as he pushed forward again.

“One!”

Quentin’s body jerked at the strike and the feel of Eliot filling him up again, and he bit his lip against a cry that might earn him the punishment of having to wait for more. Eliot’s weight was a delicious pressure against him and inside him, making his cock throb and leak between his thighs. His nerves registered pleasure with an undertone of discomfort that fed his submissive desires. The tassels licked across his asscheeks again.

“Two!”

_Only two, oh God, and I’m not supposed to come until Eliot says—_

Eliot continued to punish Quentin’s ass with the tassels until the skin there turned pink, then a darker shade of blushing rose. He entered his smaller partner with each lash, feeling him twitch and clench and jerk, the movements making him feel both powerful and protective.

“Seven, eight, nine . . .” Eliot paused to delay his own orgasm, the muscles in his lower belly tense, his cock and testes full and flushed. His free hand gripped Quentin’s shoulder, massaging and squeezing. The tassels made flat smacking sounds as they landed across Quentin’s ass. The position made it difficult for Eliot to see exactly where he was landing the strokes, as it was like flogging a racehorse while riding it, but judging from the way Quentin was squirming and gasping, he was hitting the mark.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . .”

_Whap whap whap!_

Quentin’s eyes rolled and pleasure hummed through his body as Eliot rode and struck him at the same time. The strike of the tassels warred with the deep strokes of Eliot’s cock, and it jammed all reasonable thought and reduced Quentin’s world to the absolute need to climax. He bit his lower lip and whimpered to keep from speaking, and as the strikes with the tassels tipped over into the 20s, he felt his body begin that tell-tale tensing, that undeniable upward lift that beat the shit out of any medication he’d ever taken.

“25, 26 . . .” Eliot panted, his neck and chest flushed rose from struggling to control his own body. “Are you ready, sweet boy?” Eliot tightened his sweat-slick grip on the crop. “27—and one to grow on!” He struck Quentin hard, tossed the crop aside, and pulled Quentin up and against his erection until the head ground against Quentin’s prostate. Quentin wailed at the sensation and Eliot bent over to whisper in his ear. “Come. _Now_.”

“Oh fuck—” Quentin gasped out before he shuddered hard and his cock fountained against the duvet and his own quivering belly. Eliot held him there, moving his hips in quick jabbing motions to intensify Quentin’s climax. He clenched around Eliot and the taller man rested his chin against Quentin’s shoulder as he let himself go and gave himself over to the pleasure of coming hard, his arms wrapped around his partner. Finally, the sensations faded and he lifted his head at Quentin’s insistent whimpers.

“Q?”

“Cozy—horse!” Quentin gasped it out and Eliot released him, undoing the wrist restraints and taking his weight off him. Quentin groaned, his arms dropping bonelessly to his sides before he tipped himself over and sprawled out onto his back. His cock twitched against his inner thigh, the head still dripping. Eliot draped himself along side of his supine partner.

“Good?” He asked, reaching out to stroke Quentin’s hair. Quentin turned toward him and Eliot gathered him up, understanding the need for contact and comfort after such a session. He cupped the back of Quentin’s neck and rubbed his back until the smaller man raised his head.

“Wow,” he said at last. “Happy birthday to me!”

“It was my pleasure. Literally,” Eliot chuckled, and Quentin laid his head on Eliot’s heart, his heartbeat turning Quentin’s world on its axis.

“You better start thinking about what you want for your birthday,” he said, and Eliot stroked Quentin’s hair, gentle, elegant fingers working out the tangles.

“I don’t know, Q.”

Quentin frowned, lifting his chin, only to have Eliot smile and kiss his lips.

“Thanks to you, I’m already the man who has everything.”

FIN


End file.
